


Tangerine

by Eshnoazot



Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BFFs, Best Friends, Crowley is a mood and an aesthetic, Emotional maturity? We don't know her, Gabriel-Centric, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Other, Revenge booking Airbnb, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), gabriel is a bastard and we love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/pseuds/Eshnoazot
Summary: “Aziraphale and I are best friends,” Crowley responded flatly, and peered at Gabriel with bubbling mirth, “And you created a form to fill out?”“No,” Gabriel responded like you would respond to a particularly slow child, “Camael created the form, on my request, so that Beelzebub could fill it out.”“Aziraphale and Beelzebub are friends?” Crowley retorted with a cry of shock and offense, and almost lost his balance as he scrambled into a less provocative posture, “Since when?”





	Tangerine

**Author's Note:**

> Just a tiny little fic to fit a scene in that didn't fit with the next update!

Crowley is _draped_ across the doorway wearing a long loose shirt that reads _‘In Every Angel, A Demon Hides’ _with a mug of steaming hot coffee in his hand. His hair is longer than it had been the last time Gabriel had seen it and left unbound across his shoulders. His red hair is shining, positively gleaming in the sunlight, like the flames of a fire or a shine of a ruby.

Crowley has one bare leg planted on the other side of the doorframe, to stop any unwanted intruders, so he teeters on the one pressed to the floor with a little bit of a wobble. The demon is also clad in ridiculous rabbit-shaped slippers, and a tan bathrobe about knee-length that has _Aziraphale_’s name embroidered over the left breast. He lowers his sunglasses halfway down his nose with his free hand, just to give Gabriel a completely _unimpressed_ look.

Gabriel returns it, crossing his arms across his chest with narrowed eyes, and patiently waits for whatever this drama performance _is_, to be finally over. It takes longer than expected because Crowley delights in the uncomfortable liminal spaces in conversations. 

“Gabriel,” Crowley drawls, inspecting his painted nails without a care in the world, “What a _surprise_ to see you again.”

It isn’t a surprise at all and they both know it. It’s a sentence which just serves to make Gabriel’s ill-repressed rage bubble a little more below the surface. It’s a sentence which serves to allow Crowley to marinate himself in his unfettered glee and smugness. It's a sentence which sets the tone for this little two-step dance.

“Demon Crowley,” Gabriel acknowledges as pleasantly as he can to such a being, “May I come in?”

It’s not a request at all, and they both know it.

“No,” Crowley responds, looking pleased, “You can straight up just _bugger off_.”

“That would defeat the purpose of this visit,” Gabriel replies, “This is _my_ cottage.”

Crowley takes a long sip of his coffee, making intense eye contact over the top of his sunglasses. Gabriel takes a steady inhale, although he doesn’t need it. The mug in Crowley’s hand reads _'Sinning is Winning' _and is written in comic sans. Gabriel hates Crowley’s stupid yellow eyes a little more, with every ongoing second of his obnoxious slurping noises that seem to continue long after the liquid inside the mug is gone.

The feeling is mutual.

Gabriel casts his eyes to the heavens and sends a prayer for patience and inner peace. His prayers, like usual, go unheeded. Privately he thinks that not even God wants to deal with the serpent demon anymore than he does. 

“No,” Crowley responds, with a horrendous little smile, “This is _my_ cottage. For the next 24 hours at least anyway, I booked it fair and square, although it was a bit more expensive than this place is really worth. If you want to get specific, it belongs to a Mrs Irene Gable, _lovely_ lady really, an absolute shark at cards. A little _too_ enthusiastic about tangerine, but we all have our moral failings, _eh?_”

“You live across the road,” Gabriel responds with a frank stare, “And you know that Beelz and I require the use of this locality every Wednesday. It is _Wednesday_.”

“Should have checked the fine print of that time share,” Crowley responded, flexing his brightly coloured toes, “That was one of mine, by the way.”

Gabriel hums.

That is the problem.

It is Wednesday, and in three hours, Beelzebub will be arriving, like usual, to enjoy some Thai Food and engage in Best Friend Behaviours. For the past few weeks, it had been specifically dedicated to finding out what kind of Thai Food the traitors were ordering – not hard since they still billed everything either Upstairs or Downbelow – and then proceeding to order from the same place just to prevent them from being able to order anything from that restaurant ever again.

Beelzebub, specifically, had a vague plan about starving the traitors out from Earth – but Gabriel had a faint inkling that maybe it wasn’t so easy to just siege an Earth town anymore that might have come from one of Aziraphale’s endlessly boring reports. Gabriel had stopped reading them a while ago when Aziraphale started including instruction manuals for constructing food in his reports. 

In any case, if Beelzebub finds out that Gabriel had _forgotten to book the cottage_, and that the traitors had booked the cottage out from under his nose – Beelzebub will have _words_. Words, that Gabriel worries, _might_ mean the end of their friendship. It is an unacceptable risk.

Gabriel can remember the feeling of their hand-pressed in his and cherishes the memory of them sitting by his side. He wants more memories.

“Aziraphale and I needed a scene change,” Crowley continues, or maybe he never stopped_ talking_.

It is inconsequential because Gabriel couldn’t give _less of a shit_ about the serpent or the specifics of his best friend situation – because Aziraphale’s best friend is _inferior_ to Gabriel’s best friend. Quite literally, Beelzebub is a _Prince_, and Crowley seems to be some kind of irrelevant extraneous creature to the process, much like a decorative rock in a fish tank.

“A little vacation, A sea change,” The demon is _still talking_, “Can you smell the sea salt from here? Really clears out the ol’ lungs.”

“You live across the road,” Gabriel responded flatly, “In a nearly identical cottage.”

“It is great innit?” Crowley lazily responds, “Nice to appreciate it from the outside for once, it was an absolutely _smashing _idea to have a little _us _time. Just kick up our heels and relax. We’ve been practically_ baptising_ this place.”

Gabriel frowned.

Crowley’s grin _curled_ at the edges, “Oh you don’t like the sound of that, do you? That me and Aziraphale are together, _happy_ and getting up to all kinds of stuff without the approval of you wankers. Well, you can take your _holier-than-thou_ attitude and cram it so far up your celestial backside that you’ll be tasting your own smugness and unpleasant arrogance.”

“You can’t baptise a physical location,” Gabriel responded, “And it would be foolish for any demon to be close to Holy Water of that magnitude, in any regard. Don't let me stop you though."

Crowley blinked.

“And additionally, I don’t really care what kind of bizarre _personal anatomical lifestyle choices_ you subpar demons have – I don’t have a backside because I lack a human digestive system, because I do not need to consume….that_ decaying diluted bean liquid_,” Gabriel added with no small hint of disgust, “You’re both traitors, so I don’t care one way or another what you’ve decided to do with your quote-unquote _happiness_.”

“We’ll avert every apocalypse if we have to, “ Crowley asserted, “So you and Lord Beelzebub can stop having these indiscrete clandestine stakeouts. We are_ aware_ you’re watching us, and I guarantee, _I’ll die_ before you try and kill Aziraphale again.”

“I don’t care,” Gabriel responded brightly, “Whether you or the other traitor, lives or dies. I really, really don’t! Both of you still need to follow the correct procedures and paperwork, to recognise this best friendship situation.”

“_What now_?” Crowley responded, and then looked utterly delighted, “_Best Friendship_? What?”

“There’s a very simple form that you both need to fill out, and submit to Angel Resources,” Gabriel responded, “And then we can go back to not caring about each other’s painful existence – because I can sure vouch for the sheer pain and suffering that your stupid face causes me on sight.”

“Aziraphale and I are best friends,” Crowley responded flatly, and peered at Gabriel with bubbling mirth, “And you created a form to fill out?”

“No,” Gabriel responded like you would respond to a particularly slow child, “Camael created the form, on my request, so that Beelzebub could fill it out.”

“_Aziraphale and Beelzebub are friend_s?” Crowley retorted with a cry of shock and offense, and almost lost his balance as he scrambled into a less provocative posture, “_Since when_?”

“Beelzebub has much better taste than to associate with you two,” Gabriel retorted, “Beelzebub and I are friends. We’re _best friends_, in fact. Certainly _better_ at being Best Friends _than the two of you_.”

Crowley stood there for a long moment, utter puzzlement giving way to a look of disgusted confusion and skepticism, and then to a dawning pensive look.

“Aziraphale and I are best friends,” Crowley responded slowly, curling his finger’s over Aziraphale’s name on the bathrobe, “And you and Beelzebub are Best Friends – what exactly do you _do_?”

“It’s absolutely none of your business,” Gabriel responded, but puffs his chest up in pride, “Just the standard best friends rituals – the consumption of Thai Food on Wednesdays, habitation in South Downs, hand-holding-“

“Run that one by me again?” Crowley responded with a blank look.

“-We have also worn the other’s clothing,” Gabriel added, to Crowley’s choking noises, “Well, Beelzebub has worn my scarf, I do not think Beelzebub would be comfortable allowing me to wear their attire. I will enquire if I might be allowed to wear the hat.”

Crowley looked a little pained and a little sick at that thought, Gabriel hadn't the faintest idea why, so eventually decided it must be jealousy. 

“I will literally do anything if you stop talking,” Crowley muttered back with a twitch in his eye, before looking skyward, “This is the punishment isn’t it?”

“Get out of my cottage,” Gabriel barked, “I am the Archangel fucking Gabriel, and you are going to vacate these premises before my Best Friend arrives and wonders why we have unwelcome company.”

Crowley gave a full-body shudder, “Right, just – _give us a minute,_ will you?”

Crowley took a step and then the tangerine door was slammed straight in Gabriel’s face. The sight of the door made him flush with anger and rage at the inhospitality, even as he heard Crowley shouting for Aziraphale on the other side. Gabriel let the hatred stew just a minute, before he noticed the peeling paint on the sides, and had to suppress a smile. It had been Beelzebub who had caused the paint to flake – kicking down the door the very first day. They were deceptively strong, even for a Demon.

Gabriel could faintly hear an argument brewing behind the door; frantic stage whispers which kept mentioning his name every few minutes. He can’t tell much of what is being said, just that neither of them was particularly happy and Aziraphale was groaning and sighing loudly. Gabriel huffed at the disrespect he was being shown, and eventually loudly knocked on the door.

“I’m still waiting,” Gabriel hollered, “It’s really not that hard, to just _get out_.”

There is a sudden still, and then footsteps.

When the door swings open, it is Aziraphale on the other side. He too is clad in sleepwear, Aziraphale is wearing tartan shorts and a long shirt that has far too many ruffles to be stylistically typical of this human era, which has been tucked into his waistband at the front. On his head is some sort of matching tartan hat which was long and droopy.

Aziraphale was also holding a coffee mug, which read _‘I think my guardian angel drinks’_.

“Gabriel, _so nice _of you to drop by,” Aziraphale greets with a warm smile, “Now kindly bugger off.”

Then he slams the door.

Gabriel gapes for a few seconds at the closed door and then narrowed his eyes.

This wouldn’t do at all.


End file.
